The Start To The End
by paranoia'SPLASH
Summary: Six people, all with different beginnings. Rosalie, Edward, Esme, Alice, Carlisle, Jasper. This is the start to the end.
1. Rosalie

**A/N: **You have been warned. Sporadic updates, random words. A surprise chapter at the end.

**Disclaimer**: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. I wouldn't be surprised if the words do, too.

Betrayed

Rosalie

_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  
If the Lord won't take you, the devil must._

I walked home slowly, wary of the dim lights and seedy neighbourhood. How ironic that the poorest families in Rochester lived next to the some of the richest. I eyed the dilapidated shacks in disgust, watching the dirty children play indoors with their family. The children deserved a better life. The life of the poor and dirty was not suitable for a child.

I wished I had called Papa. He would have sent a driver over to pick me up immediately-still, it felt ridiculous. I lived only a few blocks away. It was why I enjoyed visiting Vera so, it was located conveniently close to home. I had left later than usual today, however, and had to walk at this late hour.

As I walked, I recalled my visit to Vera. Her little Henry was really too adorable for words-he was at the stage where he was sitting up on his own. Being with Vera was the only time I had felt jealous. She had everything I wanted, a child, a loving husband...I pushed the thought aside. I was engaged to Royce now, and I felt only pity for her when I imagined _my _children playing in the lush grounds of the King's mansion. Still, that little flicker of doubt lingered.

When I passed by a particularly dark area I shivered and tightened my jacket, a gift from Royce, around my bodice. I was fully aware I would be a target for robbers and whatnot. I was dressed more conservatively than normal, due the coldness unusual for late April, but my attire was still gaudy and clearly extravagant.

A dog howled in the background, and I quickened my pace, taking mincing steps in the constricting skirt I was in. I heard the laughter of men nearby, and considered turning back. But I was so close to my home...I could see warm, inviting lights twinkling in the near distance. I breathed in a gulpful of cool, crisp air and braced myself.

I came across the men quickly. They were at the barrier between the rich and the poor, lurking beneath a broken streetlight. I could only see their shadows, and I walked as far away from them as possible in the hope that they would ignore me. I distracted myself with thoughts. It was really very cold. I worried about the wedding, set tentatively at a week from today. I didn't want an indoor wedding; it would spoil the effect completely.

I recognized the street as I passed it. I was very close to home now, where fires roared comfortingly and grand rugs and carpets decorated the house. I longed to sit at home in front of the fireplace, and I quickened my pace to a brisk trot.

The men laughed loudly then. They were drunk. I shrank into the shadows, frightened and wary, wishing more than ever that I had called upon my father to escort me home.

One of them called my name then. "Rose!" a familiar voice boomed. I paused for a second. Royce was among them; I hadn't realized the men were so well-dressed. I had assumed they were part of the local drunks. I recognized some of the others. They were all sons of other rich men. I wondered if I should stay or go. I quickly decided to leave. If Royce was drunk he could not be held accountable for his actions.

"Here's my Rose!" Royce laughed stupidly, chortling with the others boisterously. "You're late. We're cold, you've kept us waiting so long."

My heart beat in quick stacatto bumps. I hadn't realized Royce drank. I had never seen him drink before other than the occasional toast. He had told me, once, that he didn't like champagne. I realized now he preffered something stronger. Royce grabbed my arm suddenly, drawing me up so close I could smell the sour scent of stale beer hanging on them.

"What did I tell you, John," Royce crowed, addressing the John in question. A dark-haired, tanned man looked me over like I was a horse for sale. I shivered under his stare. I recognized him as a friend of a friend, come up from Atlanta. "Isn't she lovelier than all your Georgia peaches?"

I couldn't find it in me to feel pride at his compliment; instead, shivers broke out as the man slowly leered. "It's hard to tell," he drawled. "She's all covered up."

They laughed loudly, Royce like the rest, as he pulled the jacket off my shoulder roughly. The brass buttons popped and scattered over the street as I shivered under the sudden cold. I tried to pull me arm loose, but Royce was no weakling. He held me tightly and laughed again. "Show him what you look like, Rose!"

He tore my hat out of my hair, the pins wrenching my hair from my roots. I cried out at the sharp pain stinging, and they laughed more, enjoying my pain. I cringed away from them, wrenching my hand loose and trying to run and escape for home.

"Come on, Rose!" Royce laughed loudly, ripping at my clothes. His nails dug into my skin, tearing out my skin and flesh. I screamed in pain as blood stained whatever garment was left. Deep red dotted the ground as they took turns to pull and rip at me roughly, tossing me around.

They forced themselves onto me, pushing deep and rough as I screamed and writhed, passing me around once they were done and laughing stupidly at me. One of them, a tall, stocky man named Charles took great pleasure in tearing out my hair, yanking blonde hair from the roots and smearing it over me with his hand.

They groped me blindly and forced themselves on me, and when they were done, threw me onto the floor like a rag doll. I caught my fall with my hands, sobbing as I gathered up the scraps of my clothes. A wave of nausea hit me and I slumped onto the cold floor, blood dripping copiously from my several wounds.

They staggered away, still joking crudely. "You'll need a new bride now, eh, Royce?" one of them teased. Royce laughed loudly in response, and told them he would need to learn some patience first. I waited in the road, my body turning numb from the cold. I waited to die.

Minutes, then hours passed. The first snow started to fall, and I wondered why it was taking so long to die. Perhaps I wasn't suffering enough, maybe I needed to suffer more as a sick punishment to my selfishness.

The pain stung, but not as badly as the sting of Royce's betrayal.

I felt a soft breeze then, and I forced open my eyelids through the dried blood to see Doctor Cullen bending over me. I felt a twinge of irritation. I had never liked the Cullens. They were more good-looking than I was, the main reason why I disliked them so much. I didn't enjoy sharing the spotlight. The Cullens, however, lived in isolation and didn't mingle.

Doctor Cullen pulled me up then, and I suddenly thought I was finally dead. It felt like flying, the speed at which I was traveling at. I was horrified the pain didn't stop. Shouldn't pain stop in death?

I felt warmth then, a soft, inviting feeling that warmed my toes and returned some feeling to my limbs. Bright lights surrounded me, and I felt the pain begin to dull as I slowly lost consciousness. I welcomed death, as long as it was a relief to the pain.

Then I felt pricks of pain, cutting at my wrists, ankles and neck. I screamed mentally as the pain returned to me, surging through my veins like a red-hot burn. I found my mouth, and screamed and screamed. I could hear Doctor Cullen next to me, speaking to me and apologizing, over and over, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the burning pain that scorched everything in it's path.

At that moment then, the pain made me think it was the ending. I was mistaken.

It was only the beginning.


	2. Edward

**A/N: **Unbelievable. I hate myself. One week of trying to churn out something readable and this stupid thing comes out. Yes, as you can tell, I'm rather pissed right now.

Broken

Edward

I was unable to feel. I stayed still in the cold bed, inhaling the scent of antiseptic and wishing the endless suffering would end. Or perhaps I tossed and turned in the bed. I wasn't sure. Maybe I was just mad, and somewhere Mother and Father were crying as they watched me live an imaginary life. Did a madman know his delusions weren't real?

My body was covered with a thin layer of sweat. Every once in a while, a nurse would come in to wipe me with cold towels. The coldness felt good against my clammy skin. I wasn't at the stage where I was completely unaware of my surroundings yet. I could still feel, and at the moment, feeling was not so welcome.

I tried distracting myself; I immersed myself in memories of happier times. Father had been a successful lawyer-we were moderately wealthy, which I never took for granted. I knew that at any moment, something might happen and all the wealth would vanish. As for Mother, I believed her only worry was that I was only a year away from being drafted for the war. She didn't realize I was impatiently waiting for that moment to come. I was eager to serve my country. I never told Mother, though. She would have a cardiac arrest.

I felt a brief twang of pain as I wondered about the fate of my parents. I knew Mother was alive. She had frequently stumbled into my room at night, nursing me even when she herself was sick. She had stopped only recently, when she was bedridden. I derived my information from the nurses-Mother was located at a seperate room, since I had contracted the influenza after her.

Someone entered. I heard the door creak open and close through the sweaty haze I was in, and I vaguely heard a doctor's voice. At the moment my dreams felt more grounded than reality, but I struggled to hear him. He was speaking of Mother.

"...bad condition..."

I inhaled sharply. Either Mother or I was in bad condition, and I hoped it was me. I would rather I suffer than Mother. She didn't deserve this. Mother always loved unconditionally. It was unfair if she had to suffer through this sickening disease. If she had to pass, I wanted it to be a quick, painless death. She didn't deserve torture, neither emotionally nor physically.

The doctor had a calming voice. It was almost musical in a way, and I focused on the rise and fall of his voice as he spoke. I wondered briefly if I was dying. Perhaps I was.

"Doctor," I rasped, staring at nothing. "How is my mother?"

There was a pause. I saw a flash of yellow and white as he rubbed his face-in exhaustion, I presumed. "She's in bad condition," he finally answered. I strained to hear; I felt as though I was listening to him underwater. Something hard and cold pressed my legs firmly-it took me a moment to realise my limbs were thrashing around. How strange. I hadn't realised.

Another pause. The good doctor was frustrated, or perhaps even disappointed. At what I was unable to pinpoint. I couldn't blame him, or any other of the medical staff. They were doing their best. The current pandemic had swept everyone off their feet. I vaguely recalled Mother flittering over the house, wringing her hands desperately as Father watched her and chuckled. They seemed like memories from a different era now, a happier one.

Father...Father was most likely to have passed by now. He had been first to contract the illness. How ironic, considering Father had been the least worried of the family. He had been complacent, all of us were. Our little town in Chicago had seemed impenetrable with all the medical checks performed on any visitor.

I felt a spasm of cold heat squeeze my chest, and I realised it was sorrow. Sorrow and regret at the passing of so many. And of course, fear. A more selfish emotion. I was fearful for my life, knowing I could so easily leave this life as so many before me had.

The doctor pressed one hand to my forehead, and I started, surprised at the sudden coldness. "Forgive me, Edward," he murmured. I wanted to call out, ask why he was asking my forgiveness, but my throat constricted and barred me from speech.

I understood suddenly, as a sharp, scorching pain shot through my neck. He was seeking my forgiveness because he needed to kill me. Of course. I shut my eyes tightly and prayed for the pain to be over soon. I imagined I could see my dear grandfather Anthony Masen, who had earned a special place in my heart after his declaration that humans would be able to step on the moon one day. Father had said he was losing his sanity.

The pain cut into my ankles as well suddenly, making me gasp for breath as the fire traveled up my body and spread out. I felt the urge to writhe and scream, but Doctor Cullen was murmuring comforting words while holding my body still. I immediately realized this wasn't death. This was far worse than it.

It was neither the end nor the beginning.

Purgatory. Yes, that was the word. I was suspended in purgatory.

I couldn't wait for it to end.


	3. Esme

Cry  
Esme

I stood on the sheer edge of the cliff. I shifted one toe experimentally. The rocky cliff, darkened with rain, fell away where my foot touched it. I smiled, inhaling deeply and tasting the electricity palpable in the air, brought on by an oncoming storm. Novembers in Ashland were always the wettest.

The grey, heavy clouds swirled lowly in the sky. Occasionally bright lightning would grace the area with its presence. When it did the air around me burst into electrical spurts, raising goosebumps on my hand.

My thoughts drifted, recalling unwanted memories that filled my mind like the plague. Charles...Charles was gone now. I would never have to worry about him. I changed my train of thoughts, the image of my baby, my poor baby girl, still and unbreathing after all my efforts to stay as far away from Charles as was humanly possible. My eyes burned, and before I knew it tears were cascading down my face in bitter harmony with the raindrops slowly pelting the cliff.

Now, more than ever, I wished desperately for someone to trust. Someone who I could confide in and tell my dark secrets to. I was unable to even inform Mother or Father about anything. They had attributed everything to a young girl who didn't know how to be a good wife. I resented their lack of trust. As parents, they ought to be defending me instead of Charles.

I sighed and looked straight ahead. Looking down at the sheer drop would frighten me and no doubt I would retreat from my goal. I refused to back down. I _needed _to do this, to be with my baby if not anything else. I couldn't handle this life anymore. Maybe I would find peace in another life.

Lightning flashed a jagged line down the cloudy sky, and I threw myself off the cliff.

I didn't remember much after that.

Lights.

Voices.

A flash of horribly familiar topaz.

The scent of death.

I faded in and out of consciousness, over and over again.

Until the fire came to claim me, and I screamed. I screamed until my throat was hoarse, and when I woke up, I was greeted by a sight from my childhood.

**A/N: **It was the best I could do with horrible flu. I'm totes going to demand the stop the construction across the road. It's screwing with my health. On another note, if you have a Twitter, do follow me. It's going to be where I tell people unnecessary updates about my writing.


	4. Alice

Deceit  
Alice

I always liked him.

I didn't even know his name. At the asylum, anyone who weren't the doctors or the guards weren't allowed to interact with us. I always suspected it was because whoever was in charge feared we might harm them. After all, we were the mental patients.

I was far from crazy. I was unable to change the fact that I could see the future. And yet, here I am, on a thin blanket on the floor waiting for the clock to strike two so that _he _would come in. I didn't need to be a fortune-teller to know that. The regime here was very tight.

The clock tower chimed, and I could hear a key rattling in the lock.

He was different from the rest of the workers, I knew that much. Although he never spoke to me-he was prohibited from interaction-he always offered a small smile when he entered. That alone was enough to set him apart from the others. He made an effort to dress up the plain white walls with crayon drawings and wallpaper, and the food he gave me was never the horrible, overcooked sort. I appreciated him, possibly far more than he would ever realize.

Today was different.

My vision came just as he entered the room. I stared up at him, not understanding his future. He frowned at me and picked me up hastily. I shuddered at his coldness and was about to tell him to put me down when he spoke.

"Be quiet," he snarled at me.

I froze. He never spoke to me like that. He never spoke at all. Something must be wrong.

He ran out of the building that occupied the tiny cells we patients were housed in. I squinted at the sunlight. I hadn't seen it in months. It took me a moment to comprehend that I was free.

_Free. _

He seemed to be running rather fast and freely for someone was carrying a nineteen-year-old. True, I was tiny for my age, but something seemed off in his movements. It was as though he had delibarately _appeared _sluggish before. Why?

We ran, ran far out of the asylum grounds. A few moments later he put me down gently on a patch of grass and I gasped at the sharp blades of grass poking into my thighs. It was a pleasant sensation I hadn't had the pleasure of feeling for a very long time. He stood, towering above me for a few moments, his face appearing conflicted. I decided to put him out of his misery. "I won't blame you."

He hesitated and smiled at me. I knew he had made his decision then when a vision formed in my mind. Before I could scream at the horrible, horrible pain I saw in my immediate future, he swooped down and bit my neck cleanly and efficiently. I barely had time to widen my eyes at the sharp sting of his betrayal when my eyes shut of their own accord.

The last thing I saw and heard before slipping into unconsciousness was a flicker of yellow hair, bobbing in the far distance, and the voice I had loved for the past few months, maybe years, whispering a soft apology to me.

~x~

I blinked, my eyes fluttering as I shifted, feeling the rock beneath my back. I vividly recalled the few images that still danced behind my eyelids, giving me the few, meagre pieces of information I needed for my bare survival.

I need to find a man named Jasper Whitlock, for I will be the one to lead him to the golden-haired man. My name is Alice, and I remember nothing of my past.

**A/N: **So I needed to post this out. I actually wrote this the same time as I posted Esme's, but...yeah. You know the drill-review, follow me on Twitter, and so on. Plus, if you're an anonymous reviewer, do leave an email, because I'll be distributing my *new* account links. Like I said. Reviewers first, 'cause I heart you guys. For those who won't review (psh), the link will come before New Year, I hope.


	5. elalleqa

Okay, so here's the deal. I could go all emo and shit, or I could be postive about this. I choose to take the latter path, mainly because going emo will result in horrible consequences.

I'm not sure if many of you know, but I am leaving Fanfiction. This is partly due to the fuckery going on-thank the Literate Union for that-and also because I just cannot stand the utter shit FFn is becoming.

Okay. I'm disgusting myself.

I know you probably want an update-hell, you're probably screaming at me for giving up on my stories. I _will _continue these stories. If not tomorrow, next week. If not next week, next month. I'm not going to stop writing, mostly because I'll die if that happened. Meanwhile, I'll still be on fanfiction dot net. I'll be answering to Pms, reviews and whatnot. I just won't be writing, because I don't want the morons that run this site to pull down my stories permanently.

Worst case scenario, I'll be banned. If this happens, I'm going to return with a vengeance and wreck utter havoc on the fandom, simply because I can. Many fantastic stories have been pulled because of the no-smut rule, and honestly, petitioning to the staff of fanfiction dot net isn't going to work. You need to petition to the authors for that.

You can follow me on Twitter if I'm banned, or just watch out on Twilight blogs such as the Midnight Eclipse. If I'm banned, I'll announce my return on these two platforms.

In the meantime, you can check my profile every first of the month. I'll update it regularly on where I'm writing, and you can track my movement through there. Also, do visit my profile and my last contribution to the fandom-The Last Contribution. It might make you want to gouge your eyes out, though, so be prepared.

Here's to a good year ahead.

-Dee


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